


This One's Gonna Leave A Mark

by rockinrye



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, F/F, Tat!Tana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockinrye/pseuds/rockinrye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d like to say that she’s forgotten about the girl, but she hasn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This One's Gonna Leave A Mark

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Santana Lopez is a 23-year-old tattoo artist and Rachel Berry is just getting her start on Broadway.

Santana’s fucking tired and a little bit hung over. It’s blazing outside and she pushes her black wayfarers up onto her head as she toes the glass door of Spilled Ink open with the black Air Jordan V’s on her feet. Puck’s grinning at her before she can even say anything.  
   
“Wild night, eh?” She rolls her eyes and drops her bag over the counter, next to Tina, the receptionist.  
   
“Fuck off,” she groans. Tina just lets out this little laugh and looks back and forth between them like it’s a tennis match then slides a sheet of paper toward Santana.  
   
“Your three o’clock cancelled and someone called to get a consultation for a sleeve.”  
   
“Good shit,” she says. It’s as close to “thank you” as anyone’s getting from her. She takes the paper and then the Moleskine she writes her appointments in when Tina takes it out of her bag. “Let me get that Pepsi, too.”  
   
Tina fishes it out and she heads toward her station, taking a swig of the soda. Puck grabs the black Bulls jersey she’s wearing from behind and pulls her over.  
   
“You’re such a dick,” she tells him. Puck just kisses her cheek and snatches her drink while pushing her toward her set up. She rolls her eyes and sits in her chair, checks the text message Mike just sent her.  
   
“The fuck did you get into last night?” Puck says.  
   
“Your mom.” Puck scoffs and tips back her drink again. She just smirks and licks her lips then finger-combs her hair, which is still wavy because she wasn’t fucking with her flatiron this morning. “I went to this party in Bed-Stuy with Mike.”  
   
“Get laid?” She grins because, duh, look at her. He pushes his fist out and she rolls her eyes but bumps it with her own anyway.  
   
“If you two are done being inappropriate,” Holly says, appearing out of thin air. Legit, it’s her best skill. “I’d like to have a quick staff meeting in the back.” She doesn’t wait for them to answer, just walks back out of the room.  
   
“What did you do this time?” Santana says bumping Puck’s shoulder and snatching her drink back.  
   
“I didn’t do shit.” There’s only a thirty per cent chance that’s true.  
   
The other artists, Matt, Z and Hugo, follow them to the back. Holly’s sitting on top of her desk when they get there.  
   
Santana leans back against the far wall, they’re painted brick red and covered in large black and white photographs. Puck hops onto the all black pool table and swings his legs.  
   
“Hola muchachos and Lopez,” Holly says, with her arms crossed. She’s smiling but it looks a little reserved and more than a little sad. She just kind of looks around the room then opens her mouth to say, “So, I’m selling the place and moving to LA.”  
   
“Fuck,” Hugo says, stroking his goatee. He’s older, does all the piercings and has flecks of grey in his beard. “Are you serious?”  
   
(He asks her question, so she stays quiet.)  
   
“I thought you’d never ask,” she teases. “I’m ready to move on. I’ve been here for the last ten years and I need something new.”  
   
Santana’s honestly not that surprised.  
   
Even though Holly’s been stable here and steadily building the shop for the last decade, she’s always been kind of floaty. Spilled Ink isn’t her only business. She has a tapas restaurant in Brooklyn Heights and a t-shirt line that only produces new things in the spring. So, yeah, it’s not surprising but –  
   
“Santana, how would you feel about taking ownership of Spilled and putting Puck as second in command?”  
   
“What?” She sputters, eyes widening. It’s not that she’s never thought about having her own shop but she turned 23 a little over three months ago. So, no, she wasn’t thinking about it this soon. She makes good money here and she has a nice apartment in Brooklyn Heights and she’s comfortable but, fuck, owning this place would be a lot.  
   
“The fish face thing? Not cute, sweetie,” Holly teases, sliding off her desk. “I think you and Puck can handle it.”  
   
Santana just rolls her eyes while Puck snickers then “woops” from his place on the pool table. Z gives her this lazy little smile and Hugo just shrugs like it’s whatever. Matt’s grinning pretty wide.  
   
“Lopez, hang back,” Holly says after she’s answered a few questions about her plans in California (to get a tan and go with the flow) and when she’s leaving (in a month). Santana lifts her eyebrows then moves to sit on Holly’s desk while the rest of the guys head back out into the shop talking animatedly about some chick both Hugo and Matt have slept with.  
   
“Sup?” She asks, sneakers kicking back against the desk as she combs her fingers through her hair.  
   
“I know you think I only run on impulse,” Holly says with this little smirk. “But, I’ve been thinking you’d own my shop since you were a fifteen-year-old little snot who called me a bitch and told me to step off.”  
   
Santana grins. It’s not like Holly’s exaggerating. She might be understating actually, because her mouth was worse than it is now back then, when she thought it was just her against the world. She definitely didn’t take too kindly to strangers. Especially not ones who said, “Come with me,” after paying ten times what she usually got for her sketches. Her first thought was that she read gayer than she realized and this blonde bitch figured she could just _pay_ for it. So, yeah, she knows she said worse than, “Bitch, step off.” Mostly because she said that to Puck last week and her language is better now. Seriously.  
   
Regardless, Holly wasn’t a lady gay who liked lady gays of the baby variety and, after convincing Santana that she didn’t intend to fondle her, they ventured two blocks down to Spilled Ink and the rest was sort of history. Holly enrolling her in art classes and Puck’s mom taking her in and a bunch of learning balanced out with a surplus of fucking up.  
   
“How much?”  
   
“Just look at it like this, chica: if you were graduating college, I’d get you a present right? Instead, you graduated into being an almost good person with a terrible attitude, so, this is my present to you.”  
   
“Holly you fucking know … You fucking know me. I can’t. No, I _won’t_ do charity,” she doesn’t want to be getting mad, but she is anyway and her neck is warm and Holly’s just smiling at her unaffected.  
   
“That’s fine, lady. You get $5,000 by Friday and the place is yours.”  
   
“I do the fucking books, Holliday. This place is worth way more than that.”  
   
“I’m the one selling. I set my own prices. 5k by Friday,” she says, patting Santana’s cheek with that smug smirk that Santana knows means she has no footing in this argument.  
   
*  
   
It doesn’t take much for her to get the money. She’s been good about saving up since she ended up on the stoop outside her building with a duffle bag on her shoulder and her mom still freaking in Spanish over catching her with Lyssa Thompson and saying she didn’t want to see her again.  
   
It’s nothing but a trip to the bank on Friday morning after breakfast with Puck and Mike. She puts up all five thousand herself because it makes more sense for her to do so. Puck’s just getting promoted to manager and she’ll be full owner.  
   
When she gets to the shop, Holly’s waiting for her with a fucking slice of chocolate cake. Seriously. She signs the deed and all she wants to do is like, get wasted and celebrate because she fucking _owns_ Spilled Ink. Instead, she sits on the couch with this piece of chocolate heaven and listens as Puck yaps about all these ideas he has to Holly. Like, honestly? Most of them are actually good, but he’s been talking for like thirty minutes.  
   
She’s kind of glad when Tina walks in and says, “Hey, ‘Tana,” and beckons her with her hand. She closes the lid on her cake, shoots a glare from Puck to her box that says _don’t touch my shit_ then dusts her hands over her shorts.  
   
Mike’s supposed to be bringing her some Thai but he’s running late. He owes her so hard.  
   
“Sup?” She asks leaning against the door that separates the main area from the back room.  
   
“I have a tat for you. Z and Matt are booked up. It’s a quick one.”  
   
“Aiight. Gimme like five minutes.” Tina just nods and says she’ll do some of the consult for her, which is perfect. Shit, maybe Tina needs a raise. “Got a tat,” she says to Holly who comes over and puts a hand on her shoulder then reaches to pinch her cheek. She ducks away from the touch with a grin and says, “Cool it, Holliday.”  
   
“You’re cute,” Holly says. “Take care of my shop, okay?” She nods because she plans to. She gives Holly a pretty serious look when she does it and Holly’s smile stretches out slowly. Santana can’t pretend she won’t miss her. She’s been around here since she was just a knucklehead who could draw tattooing grapefruits.  
   
“Aiight. Gotta run this quickie,” she says, grinning.  
   
“I bet,” Puck says, tugging a string off his camo shorts. She rolls her eyes and slips through the door and back out into the shop. She peels off the blue flannel shirt she’s wearing and tucks it into a drawer at her station then meets Tina at the front where she’s standing with a blonde guy who could use a haircut and a short girl with brown hair and eyes and insanely short dress that still makes her look _cute_ and not, well …  
   
“Hey,” she says, leaning on her forearm against the desk. “Who am I doing?”  The girl raises her hand, it’s tiny, and says “Me!” in this little singsong voice. Santana nods. “Cool. What are you looking to get?”  
   
“A small gold star on my hip.”  
   
“Yeah? Our minimum is $80 no matter how small.” She warns because, yeah, they’re not a cheap shop. There’s some serious talent here and the best equipment available. The girl just nods and says that Tina told her and it’s a little expensive but she still wants it. The blonde dude is just kind of there, with this little grin on his big mouth. “’K. I’ll do a few sketches so we can figure out the size and then we’ll get you done up.”  
   
“You should totally get the Super Mario star,” Mouth says, holding up his necklace. It’s the star with eyes from Super Mario Bros. made of those beads you like, melt, dangling off a little silver chain. It takes a lot of effort not to laugh, especially at the way the girl rolls her eyes and then gapes at him like he’s completely crazy.  
   
“Sam there’s no way I’d ever get _that_ on my body.” The girl looks at Santana like she wants back up. “It’s ludicrous, right?”  
   
Santana grins, “My boy Mike has the star and one of the mushrooms on his sleeve.”  
   
The girl’s face falls a little and her lip actually juts out, “I didn’t mean to be offensive. I’m sorry.”  
   
Santana just laughs, “It’s fine. I told him it was a dumb ass idea when I tattooed it on him. You’d be surprised to see what some people ask for.”  
   
The girl cracks a small smile but her cheeks are still a little red from embarrassment. She tucks her hair behind her ear and leans up on her toes a little to see what Santana’s drawing on the counter. “S’your name?”  
   
“Rachel. Rachel Berry.” She nods then slides the paper over to her. “Yours?”  
   
“Santana.”  
   
“Pretty.” She says with this little grin. Rachel licks her lips then bites down on the top one as her finger traces over the five different stars on the sheet. She settles her nail, painted hot pink, over the middle size. “This one.”  
   
“Alright. Let me transfer this to the paper and then we’ll get it on you. You have on shorts?” She asks, looking down at the girl’s dress. Rachel’s cheeks go a little pink as she nods.  
   
*  
   
So, yeah, shorts? Understatement of the year. She didn’t mean boyshorts but if Rachel’s fine lifting her dress and rolling the little black _lacy_ things down to get her tattoo then Santana’s cool too. She’s seen her fair share of skin here, but it’s not usually attached to legs that fucking nice. She pushes that thought out of her head because Rachel’s chest is heaving and Sam is snickering.  
   
“It’s not funny, Sam!” She says, squeezing her eyes shut. Santana hasn’t done anything yet and the girl is freaking. She’s used to that, too, but it’s not like she wants to sit and wait for her to like, get over the fear. Normally, she’d suggest someone just suck that shit up, but …  
   
“She didn’t even turn it on though. Calm down.” Mouth says.  
   
“I am calm.”  
   
“You’re not,” Santana supplies, rolling her shoulders. Rachel sort of narrows her eyes at her then. Santana shrugs. “It’s the truth. Just take a few breaths. I’ll be gentle,” she teases, rolling her eyes. Her knee bumps against Rachel’s thigh and the girl tilts onto her side a little more.  
   
“Gentle?”  
   
“As gentle as I can be,” Santana says. She’s not going to lie and tell her it won’t hurt. “It’ll be quick, too. It’s tiny.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
Rachel does a pretty good job. There’s one tear and Santana’s sure she’s going to like bite through her own lip. Santana has to press down on her thigh to stop the girl’s foot from shaking but she does better than Santana expected her to with the way she was sort of freaking beforehand.  
   
When Rachel’s not biting her lip, she’s talking about how she’s getting the star because she’s just graduated from Tisch in the spring and got her first role in a Broadway show today. She’s not the lead or anything and she only gets to sing two lines of a song without accompaniment but it’s something and she’s excited. Apparently stars are her “thing”.  
   
Rachel asks Sam to cover her while she looks at the tattoo in the wall mirror. Santana’s just finished cleaning up her station when Rachel wanders back over from the counter after paying with this little grin on her face.  
   
“Was I gentle enough?” Santana prods.  
   
“I’ve had softer,” Rachel says.  
   
So maybe she chokes on her Pepsi a little but she recovers quickly and just smirks, bites her lip and says, “I did my best.”  
   
“It’s lovely,” Rachel says and then the girl’s kissing her cheek and saying, “Thanks.”  
   
She doesn’t have time to respond to that because Rachel says, “Oh my word. I’m sorry. I just … I kiss people a lot. Not that I go around kissing people but I—Sorry.”  
   
She just laughs and fights the urge to touch her cheek.  
   
“It’s okay. You’re welcome.”  
   
“I’m so embarrassed,” Rachel says in response, scrunching her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. The Sam guy just laughs in the corner where he’s going between watching them and talking to Puck. Santana’s not even going to chance a glance at Puck because then she’ll be laughing and Rachel’s still red and her fingers are curling around the hem of her dress.  
   
“Don’t be. People can’t help themselves around me,” she teases. Rachel’s tongue is right between her teeth and she rolls her eyes up and is about to say something that Santana’s pretty curious about.  
   
“Tana!” Mike calls from the door. She rolls her eyes. _Now_ he wants to bring her food.  
   
“You ready, Sam?” Rachel asks. He nods. “Thanks again.” Then Rachel’s pushing her way out the door, dragging Sam by the hand, and Mike’s thrusting the takeout bag into her arms.  
   
She heads to the back to work on her drunken noodles while Puck teases her about macking on her customers. Whatever. She’ll never be mad at getting kissed by a pretty girl.  
   
*  
   
She moved into her own studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights at 18 with a little help from Holly, who knew the owner. Not having to worry about Puck eating her Lucky Charms or needing to keep her tequila wrapped in a flannel tucked into the suitcase she kept packed and ready just incase Mrs. Puckerman was fed up with her (which she knew reasonably would never happen) was an oddly relieving feeling. She paid a discounted rate for her first two years but by twenty she was telling Manny that she could handle the pay everyone else in the building was paying. That? That was the best feeling.  
   
So, yeah, taking ownership of the shop at such a low rate made her a little nervous and a little upset because she’s been about proving she could handle things since getting kicked out. She’s got a lot of pride because she could still be on the streets drawing pictures to make ends meet and hopping from couch to couch but she had people like Holly and Ellen Puckerman to look out for her.  
   
She’s nursing a beer and watching a rerun of Golden Girls (whatever, they’re funny) when Mike sends her a text about party he’s DJ’ing at the Brooklyn Museum. She’s basically been chilling and watching TV all day and going to a party (with an open bar) doesn’t seem like the worst thing that’s ever been suggested. She tells him she’ll come and he says he’ll pick her up since he has to drive his equipment over. It works for her because she’d rather brave the traffic than the subways tonight.  
   
She gets up for a shower now because she has to do something to her hair and it needs to be washed. She flips through her closet for a dress, remembers one she ordered from Asos not too long ago and hasn’t worn and lays it on out her bed.  
   
She flat-irons her hair while she’s still in her bra and panties and prays to the heavens she isn’t clumsy tonight because she doesn’t need a burn on her shoulder like the last time she was too lazy to put on a t-shirt. She survives it and comes out looking pretty damn hot, if you ask her. It’s sleek and shiny around her face and against her skin and she keeps her make up light.  
   
Her dress is this goldenrod shade that works well with her skin. It’s short and tight with cap sleeves and small, round cutouts on the sides. If anyone’s looking at the skin peeking out (of course they are) they can see just a hint of the branch of cherry blossoms that curls around her left side. She goes with a pair of black pumps and Mike lets out this stupid ass low howl when she slips into his passenger seat.  
   
“Haven’t seen you like this in a while,” he comments. It’s true. She’s been chill all summer, wearing cut-offs and sneakers because it’s too damn hot to have fabric so close to her skin.  
   
“Whatever,” she says anyway, then turns up the volume on his radio because _Juicy_ is on and there’s no way she’s missing it. He just smirks and pokes at the skin on her side then yelps when she slugs him.  
   
*  
   
She’s sipping a Blue Motherfucker when a little hand taps her shoulder. She’s pretty sure that every thought that passes through her head shows on her face when she turns around and sees Rachel, the girl she tattooed like two months ago, in this strapless green dress. She’s also pretty sure Rachel knows how fucking sexy her legs are because they’re on display and stilted on these heels that Santana’s assuming make her ass look awesome.  
   
(She’ll check if she gets the chance.)  
   
Rachel’s hair is all wavy, which, well, Santana thought she was attractive in the shop, but she would not mind like pushing her against the brick wall a few feet away and, you know, touching her. Basically, she fucking looks good.  
   
Rachel’s grinning at her like she knows something Santana doesn’t when she says, “You’re Santana.”  
   
“And you’re Rachel,” she responds with raising her brow.    
   
“You remembered,” Rachel says before sipping her drink. It looks like a Long Island and Santana decides she likes her more just because of that.  
   
“I mean, you _did_ kiss me,” she teases. Rachel glares then smiles again and asks Santana what she’s doing here. “I don’t know if I introduced you to Mike, but he’s one of my best friends. He’s the DJ.” She points to where Mike is in the booth twenty feet away, one headphone on and the other off, rocking his body with this grin she only ever sees when he’s in the zone.  
   
“Oh, he’s really good,” Rachel says tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and smiling in his direction. Santana nods, says he’s pretty fucking dope because it’s true.  
   
“What are you doing here?”  
   
“Came out with a few my ex-classmates before I leave town.”  
   
“You’re moving?” She totally didn’t mean to sound disappointed.  
   
“Oh, no,” Rachel says, then licks her lips and, well, she should do that again. “My show is traveling, so I’ll be in Chicago for the next six weeks.”  
   
“Dope.”  
   
Rachel sighs, “Yeah. I’ll miss the city though. I love it here.”  
   
“Born here?” Rachel shakes her head and scrunches her nose and says, “Ohio. You?”  
   
“Grew up in Bed-Stuy. You seem like you’re from here.”  
   
Rachel smiles like Santana’s said something really sweet and tells her thanks. Santana sips her drink and she’s pretty sure Rachel’s eyes are on her lips when she says, “You know, you don’t have a lot of tattoos for someone who makes a living of putting them on people.”  
   
So, she’s looking. Cool.  
   
Santana just smirks, waves at Mike over Rachel’s shoulder because he’s pointing at her then looks back at Rachel with a grin. “Who says I don’t have a lot?”  
   
“I only see the one on the inside of your wrist.” Santana rotates her right hand, so it’s on display, and then holds it out. It’s the first tat she got at sixteen. She and Puck decided to practice on each other though both of them were still supposed to be working with citrus.  
   
It’s not perfect (the one she did on Puck is better of course) but it means something. Like, a testament to just how far they’ve come. How she figured out translating the perfect lines she could do on paper to skin and how Puck became like, the ninja of shading. They’ve considered touching them up but she kind of digs how much they suck, so she hasn’t bothered it.  
   
“Just means you can’t see ‘em,” she says in response. Rachel hums and bites her lip then says, “Touché.”  
   
“You can kind of see this one,” Santana says turning her body and lifting her arm. Rachel’s fingers are on her skin in no time, tracing the little bit of cherry blossom visible through the cutout.  
   
“It’s pretty.”  
   
“It’s huge, is what it is,” she says. “Curls around my side and stops on my spine.”  
   
“Oh?” She nods and Rachel’s fingers dance over the flower one more time before she pulls back. “Wish I could see it.”  
   
“I mean, I’m not an exhibitionist but—“  
   
“Santana,” Rachel says quickly with a little grin, hitting her shoulder.  
   
She just shrugs and asks if Rachel wants another drink. She heads to the bar for both of them and some of Rachel’s friends are there when she comes back. Puck shows up, too, kisses her cheek and whispers about getting her mack on. She just rolls her eyes and introduces him to everyone, talks them up until Rachel says she has to go because she’s got an early flight. She wishes the girl luck, and means it, then drags Puck to the DJ booth to see Mike with her.  
   
“Um, why aren’t you tapping that?”  
   
“What? She’s like, straight.”  
   
Puck laughs in her face. “You have like the worst gaydar for a lesbian.”  
   
“That’s offensive,” she says, rolling her eyes, but like, some chicks are just flirty. Doesn’t mean Rachel’s actually _into_ girls. “And she’s like gonna be gone for like, two months.”  
   
“Whatever. I thought you were a champ. You pussied out.”  
   
“There’s about six things wrong with that statement,” she tells him, rolling her eyes, but she’s sort of wondering _why_ she didn’t put any real effort in.  
   
She’s definitely interested.  
   
*  
   
She’d like to say that she’s forgotten about the girl, but she hasn’t.  
   
It’s not like she’s been pining or anything. It’s just that maybe a few of the times she’s put her hands between her own legs, she’s thought about Rachel’s and how soft her fingers felt when she touched her skin.  
   
Whatever, it’s not like she’s in love or anything. So, that explains why her stomach jumps when she looks up from her place behind the counter to see Rachel, leaning over it, chest pushing up over the forearm she has resting there.  
   
“Hey,” Santana says leaning back in her chair and tapping her pen. Rachel smiles brightly and says hi. “You come to give me another kiss?”  
   
The girl just rolls her eyes and licks her lips (Santana’s pretty sure she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it) then gives Santana this glare that doesn’t do anything but make her laugh. “Just messin’, babe.”  
   
“I’m here with, Sam,” Rachel says, fingers tugging at the end of the fish braid draping over her shoulder.  
   
She’s got on this little navy blue bodycon skirt with a chambray shirt tucked into it. Her nails are yellow this time and there’s a tiny owl ring on her right ringer finger.  
   
“He’s getting that Super Mario tattoo from Puck,” she tells Santana then leans on her elbows against the counter and tips her head to where Sam’s talking to Puck about the sketch and kind of rolls her eyes.  
   
“Yeah? Seems fitting,” she muses. “Dorito?”  
   
Rachel shakes her head, “No, thank you.”  
   
Santana just shrugs and rolls the bag up. “You heal good?”  
   
“I think so. I did everything you said to.”  
   
“Best way to do it,” Rachel gives her an amused look. “Want me to look at it?”  
   
Rachel nods and Santana gets up from her seat, puts her hands on the opposite end of the counter then lifts herself over it. There’s a little door to get out but she prefers this way and Holly’s not around to chew her out about it anymore.  
   
Rachel lifts her shirt and pushes the band of her skirt down just enough for Santana to get a good look at it. It looks fine. It healed well and most of the color was retained. She traces it with her fingertip. “S’good.”  
   
“Really?”  
   
“Yep. I tell no lies.”  
   
Rachel giggles. “Are you always this truthful?”  
   
“Mm,” she says like she’s thinking on it. She sucks in a breath then lets it out. “Most of the time.”  
   
“I’ll take it,” Rachel says then her eyes leaves Santana’s face and settle on her shoulder. “You didn’t have this last time.”  
   
Santana looks where Rachel is. “The sleeve? Yeah. Puck started it for me about a month ago.”  
   
“It’s really elaborate.”  
   
“Yeah it is,” she says, a little dumbly. It’s been something she’s wanted since she enrolled in art classes. Japanese style tattooing’s always intrigued her and she’s been sketching the idea for what seems like years. She probably still wouldn’t have started if Puck hadn’t told her to boss up and do it, which, he’s an idiot but whatever.    
   
“What’s it mean?” Rachel asks, fingers gliding over the lines of one of the clouds. Santana’s eyes follow her fingers. It’s just a bunch of lines now; a little shading done where black is necessary.  
   
“Long story.”  
   
“Sam’s got a while.”  
   
“You’re good. I’ll bite.” Rachel smirks then tilts her head to the side like she’s waiting. “S’Japanese.”  
   
“I got that.”  
   
“Hey, some people don’t.” She shrugs.  
   
“I’m not most people.” Yeah, most people are not this hot. “Quit stalling. I’m curious,” she says, poking the tip of one of the waves.  
   
Santana just laughs and peels her sleeve up the rest of the way then starts explaining what’s covering her skin from her right shoulder to a little above her elbow.  
   
“Are you supposed to be the tiger or the dragon?” Rachel asks dragging a nail over the expanse of the dragon winding it’s way around the tiger. Santana can’t help but envision it when it’s in color and Puck’s the best she’s ever seen when it comes to shading. She has no worries that it’ll turn out awesome.  
   
“Who says I’m in this?”  
   
“You don’t seem like the type of person who’d get something this elaborate for fun.”  
   
Well.  
   
“It’s about balance. But right now? I’d go with the tiger.” Rachel nods and squints at the tattoo outline like she’s trying to picture it finished.  
   
“What colors are you going to use?” Rachel asks curiously. She actually sounds like she cares what the end product will be.   
   
“The dragon’s going to be purple and grey and the tiger will be, you know, tiger colored.”  
   
“It could be a white tiger.”  
   
“It’s not. There’s a bunch of other colors that’ll go into it too.” Rachel just hums and curls her fingers around Santana’s bicep. Santana watches her fingers flex and bites her lip, pushing her hip into the counter.  
   
“You’re pretty strong.”  
   
“I work out,” she jokes.  
   
“I can see that.”  
   
Of course she can.  
   
“Found your four o’clock on my way in,” Tina says.  
   
“Shoulda left him outside,” Santana says looking at Mike. He frowns at her and holds his drink out of her reach when she goes to grab for it. “We’re finishing this shit today. I’m tired of looking at your mug.”  
   
“It’s on my back!”  
   
“Still tired of looking,” she says. “My bad, Rach. I mean, Rachel. This is my best friend Mike. Mike, this is Rachel. She has awesome taste in tattoo artists.”  
   
Mike grins and holds his hand out, “So, Puck tattooed you?”  
   
“You’re an asshole.”  
   
Rachel laughs and shakes his hand. “I guess I should’ve gone to Puck then.”  
   
“Naa,” she drawls out. “M’better,” she adds, snatch a Starburst out of Mike’s palm.  
   
“She’s evil,” Mike stage whispers to Rachel. The girl just smiles and gives Santana the once over like she’s appraising her.  
   
“She doesn’t seem _too_ bad.”  
   
“She hasn’t had any tequila.”  
   
“You done talking shit about the person who’ll be running a needle over your skin for the next three hours, Miyagi?”  
   
“Yep.”  
   
“Thought so.” She rolls her eyes and pushes him toward her station. “You can like come over here if you want. I’ll pull up a chair for you,” she says to Rachel.  
   
“Really?”  
   
“’Course,” she says and steals the extra stool from Hugo’s station because he’s out for the day. Sam lets out a groan from where Puck is tattooing and Rachel laughs and says he owes her fifty bucks for making a noise.  
   
She talks to the girl about her experience in Chicago while she does the last bits of shading on Mike’s back piece. She’s doing a good job focusing on her work and talking to the hottest girl ever until Rachel says, “I was hoping you could do me today.”  
   
She sort of stabs Mike and her mouth opens and closes a few times as Mike moves away from her and looks back at her with a scowl. “Sorry,” she tells him, rubs some excess ink away then turns to Rachel and says, “What?”  
   
Rachel’s blushing when she finally looks at the girl, “I meant, I kind of wanted to get another tattoo today.”  
   
“Oh. I can probably, uh, squeeze you in tomorrow.”  
   
Rachel laughs, “I’m sorry for…”  
   
“No. No. It’s fine. I just,” she shakes head. “No worries, but I can definitely do you, just not today.” Rachel’s inhaling and biting her lip when she looks over. “I’m booked up.”  
   
“Okay,” Rachel says, her little foot taps against the side of the stool a few times and Santana just kind of smiles and turns back to Mike who’s a lot more tense than before.  
   
“Sorry, Chang,” she says before starting back up again.  
   
Rachel’s gone before she finishes him up. She says she’s meeting up with cast mates for an early dinner and Sam’s done, so really there’s no reason to stay. Though Santana can’t pretend she wouldn’t have minded the continued company.

*

Puck finds a set of keys on the front counter when they’re cleaning up at the end of the night.  
   
“Sure someone’ll be missing these,” he says shaking his head and tossing them to her. She holds them up and sighs before dropping them into the drawer at her desk.  
   
“Sucks,” she says looking over the books. Puck asks if she wants him to wait up but she sends him on because she wants to go over the books before she goes home and it’s not too late, so she’ll be fine leaving on her own. He kisses her forehead and tells her he’ll see her tomorrow and then he’s gone and she’s left in an empty backroom. So, yeah, she turns on some music while she checks over a few things and straightens up because the guys suck sometimes.  
   
She’s mid-completely-embarrassing-dance when she hears a voice that’s become all too familiar say, “Puck sent me back here.”  
   
She turns around slowly, after cutting the music, because maybe that’ll make the fact that she was three seconds from doing the robot less mortifying. “Yeah?”  
   
Rachel’s there with this little grin on her face like she’s trying to keep from laughing. “Nice moves,” she says before breaking into a giggle, which is fucking hot for no reason.  
   
“I’m talented in many areas. S’Puck gone?” Santana says in response. Rachel just nods and runs her tongue across her teeth then looks like _she’s_ embarrassed. “Sup?”  
   
“Well, I … um. I left my keys,” Rachel says, dipping her head so her hair falls in her face. The fish braid is gone and it’s wavy how Santana likes it, which – yeah, she shouldn’t _have_ a favorite way for the girl to wear her hair, but whatever.  Instead of complimenting it like she wants to, or like, you know, touching it because, fuck, it looks soft, Santana says, “I guess I should’ve known these were yours.”  
   
Then she’s going around her desk to reach into the drawer she keeps locked and taking out a set of keys with two key chains: an _I Heart NY_ one and a small, glittering gold star.  
   
“I guess so.” Rachel pushes her hair off her face and over her shoulder, which shouldn’t be hot but totally is. She just won’t stop doing hot things.  
   
“Did you get all the way home before you noticed?” She asks because basically anything else she could say would be inappropriate. Fuck, this girl’s legs are insane. Like, whatever influenced her choice in skirts should be given a presidential medal or whatever because _damn_.  
   
“You’re staring,” Rachel says and like, she’s not the least bit embarrassed about being caught because it’s a good cause. Her eyes are thankful, so.  
   
“Sorry,” she says because she should and not because she means it.  
   
“I didn’t say I minded.” And, well, that’s nice to know. “For someone so attractive you’re kind of oblivious to people being attracted _to_ you.”  
   
She’s pretty sure she was walking over to hand over the keys but she’s kind of right in front of her now and she knows she’s not supposed to be handing them to Rachel’s _mouth_ but that’s where her attention is until she registers the words coming out of it. “What? I’m not oblivious.”  
   
“Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” She could answer the question but there’s not one good enough. She doesn’t know but if she’s being invited –  
   
“You’re taking too long,” Rachel says before grabbing the front of her tee and pulling her forward into the small gap between them and, okay, she doesn’t mean to moan so soon but the girl has a good mouth and Rachel just sort of went for it. Her kisses are teasing like she’s trying to drive Santana crazy and it’s working.  
   
She drops the keys and puts one hand on Rachel’s hip and shifts the other into her hair like she’s wanted to do and doesn’t really wait long before she’s licking at the seam of Rachel’s lips then stroking the girl’s tongue with her own. Rachel pulls back after a moment, chest rising, breath coming out in soft pants, smiles a little and says, “You’re good at that.”  
   
Her initial thought is _duh_ , but her second reaction is somewhat better and that’s: “Let me keep doing it then.”  
   
And, well, she does until she’s tugged Rachel’s shirt out of the band of her skirt and her hips are rocking against Rachel’s, pinned against the pool table.  
   
She kisses down her neck and runs her hands up the small of her back and she just needs more.   
   
She drops her hands to Rachel’s hips and lifts her onto the table. Rachel just grins – Santana didn’t think the girl was capable of dirty but that’s totally what it is – and grabs Santana’s belt loop until she’s climbing up and laying Rachel out on the black felt.  
   
Rachel hooks her ankles around the small of her back, pressing their hips together and letting out these soft little whimpers as Santana’s kisses and bites at her neck. Santana’s hips jerk when she pulls her in a little tighter and she lifts her head to press their lips together again just once.  
   
“God,” Rachel says, pushing her hand up under Santana’s shirt. “You’re so … I’ve wanted you since that first time.”  
   
“Yeah?” Santana says, dropping her head into the crook of Rachel’s neck and rolling her hips. Her skin smells sweet, so she licks up the column of the girl’s neck, bites down on her pulse point. Rachel groans and she kisses her way up until her lips are teasing the shell of the girl’s ear, “Wanted you too. Can I have you?”   
   
Rachel nods, stroking the hairs at the base of Santana’s neck, pushes her hips up and says, “Yes,” in this voice that, well, yeah, she needs Rachel to be naked _now_.  
   
She kisses her again, groans when Rachel tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth then props herself up on her elbow to unbutton the girl’s shirt.  
   
It only takes three buttons to get frustrated and there are like ten more to go. She really can’t help herself when she says, “Christ, the fuck is up with all these buttons?”  
   
Rachel just giggles and lets out this little desperate noise as her hips roll, so yeah.  
   
“Do you like this shirt because, fuck,” she asks. She doesn’t wait for a response before she’s yanking and buttons are flying. She should care more about like, ruining it but she doesn’t. Rachel gasps but Santana’s not sure if it’s because of the buttons or the fact that she pulled the cup down on Rachel’s hot pink bra and replaced it with her mouth. She’s assuming it’s the latter.  
   
“You need to take this off,” Rachel says, fingers clawing at the hem of her tee. She pulls her own shirt off the rest of the way and drops it over the edge of the table then reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra. Rachel’s hands are where they belong, you know, on her chest, in moments and, yeah, she doesn’t want to break up the party because her palms are smooth but she kind of needs to taste her and there’s way too many clothes in the way.  
   
She sits back on her knees and tugs down Rachel’s skirt then kisses her stomach just to feel the muscles flex under her lips, touches her over her panties just to watch her hips jump. Rachel’s _so_ fucking wet and Santana tells her so. Rachel just moans, looks down at her with her lips slightly parted and says, “Please.” And, well, fuck.  
   
She curls her fingers into the band of Rachel’s panties (they match her bra) and rolls them down her long ass legs. She kisses her way up from Rachel’s ankle to the inside of her knee then drags her tongue up her thigh and bites down on her hip. Rachel’s making the best sounds and she hasn’t even done anything real yet.  
   
“Shit, baby.”  
   
Her body is buzzing with the need to do this quick, but she wants to take her time. She lifts Rachel’s right leg over her shoulder and pushes her other thigh down against table, opening her up, and dips her head for the first taste.  
   
Rachel whines out her name and rolls her hips when Santana lifts her head, looks down at her through her lashes and, god, she’s beautiful. Especially like this, chest heaving, swollen lips parted as she pants then says Santana’s name again when her tongue swipes past her clit.  
   
She starts stroking Santana’s hair and, fuck, her fingers feel so good sliding over her scalp like that. Santana squeezes her hip and curls her tongue around Rachel’s nerves, loves the way her back bows and she lets out this soft _oh_ then says, “You’re so … oh god,” when she slips her tongue inside.  
   
Santana kind of just needs to see her come, like now.  
   
She pulses her tongue a few more times, licks up and then wraps her lips around her nerves and rolls her tongue as she sucks. Rachel’s thigh quivers against her shoulder and her hips cant up, hard. Then her body goes still and she lets out the sexiest breath with her chest all flushed and her fingers curled around strands of Santana’s hair.  
   
Her hand comes down to pull Santana up by her shoulder just as she’s kissing over Rachel’s stomach. Rachel’s fingers curl around the back of her neck and pull her down for a kiss. She moans when Santana licks into her mouth and bites down on her bottom lip when Santana rolls her hips against her.  
   
“God,” Rachel says, then lets out this breathless little laugh, when Santana pulls back to look at her. Her fingers tease the hairs at the base of Santana’s neck and she has the sexiest fucking look in her eyes.  
   
“Yeah?” Santana says with this little grin. She drops a quick kiss against the girl’s lips and smirks at the way Rachel just nods like she can’t possibly form a sentence right now, with her fingers still strumming Santana’s skin.  
   
Rachel’s other hand scrapes down Santana’s abdomen then dips into the band of her jeans. She pops the button easily, tugs down the zipper and doesn’t even push them off Santana’s hips before she’s feeling inside, teasing Santana’s flesh and kissing along the column of Santana’s neck. Santana groans when Rachel’s fingers start rubbing circles over her clit, hisses when she teases at her entrance.  
   
“You feel so…” Rachel says then just kisses her, uses her other hand to push at Santana’s hip until she’s on her knees, a leg on either side of Rachel’s thigh. Santana rolls her jeans and panties off her hips, jerks forward when Rachel presses two fingers in without warning and rolls her hips with the rhythm. Her fingers curl and pull and Santana buries her face in Rachel’s neck when she starts working her thumb over nerves and scissoring her fingers in this rhythm that—  
   
“Fuck,” she says, nipping at Rachel’s jaw. Rachel wraps her leg around her waist, pulls her in just as fingers are curling up. She does not mean to moan so loud but the tension breaking in her stomach catches her by surprise and she falls forward a bit, bites down on the space where Rachel’s shoulder and neck meet and lets out these raspy breaths as Rachel strokes her down and kisses all over her shoulder.  
   
She rolls off the girl when Rachel moves her hand away and lies on her side. It’s quiet and Rachel’s eyes are closed, her wet fingers and flexing against Santana’s hipbone.  
   
Then she lets out another breathy laugh, turns her body toward Santana’s and fits her leg between Santana’s thighs, which, yeah, nice. Santana can’t help but push down on it.    
   
“I really just meant to get my keys,” Rachel says looking at her with this cute little smile. She basically has no control over her hand reaching out to tweak the girl’s nipple, none – s’like she has to be touching her if she’s near now.  
   
Rachel squeaks and Santana leans in and slants her mouth over the girl’s just because she wants to then rolls back on top of her and kicks her jeans off.  
   
“Again?” She asks against Rachel’s mouth fingers gliding over the skin just under Rachel’s belly button.  
   
“Again,” Rachel breathes out, pushing Santana’s hand down where she wants it.  
   
She can take direction.  
   
*  
   
“Yo, Lopez,” Puck says with this grin that she immediately does not like when she comes into the shop in the morning, hair pulled up in a loose ponytail, wayfarers covering her eyes.  
   
“Whaddya want?” He just keeps grinning, beckons her with his index and middle finger, which is really just the first warning but she’s tired. She got home at midnight, sated and sore with Rachel’s number on the inside of her wrist in tracer ink.  
   
He leads her to the back and sits on her desk, which she hates and then says, “Like, I know your ego is huge or whatever, so I thought you were exaggerating.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“Your skills.”  
   
“What skills?” He just starts fucking laughing and holds up a black rectangle that she realizes is a tape two seconds before she realizes what he’s saying.  
   
“You’re like a pussy monster,” he laughs out, holding his side. She basically wants to _kill_ him but she’s been arrested once and jail wasn’t fun, so she fucking claps him on the side of his head with her hand curled. He yelps and ducks from the second blow she sends but it still connects. “I was just checking the tape,” he says, still laughing after a moment.  
   
“I _hate_ you,” she sort of means it right now, because gross. She’s pretty sure she’s in his spank bank (because he’s a gross dick), but now there’s like …  reference material. Ugh.  
   
“Lesbian porn is fucking inaccurate,” he muses, shaking his head. That’s true, but, she still hates him and she’s going to hit him again. “You should be thanking me though. I got you laid by sending her back here. I thought maybe you could swindle a kiss but I didn’t expect you to fuck the girl like, immediately.”  
   
“Shut the fuck up, Puck. Give me that,” she says, snatching the tape and then smacking him again. Yeah, she’s not throwing this thing away. She goes around the desk and puts it in her drawer, drops the key into the pocket of the boyfriend jeans she’s wearing. “You fucking suck, you know that?”  
   
“We always check the tapes though,” he says. Like that makes it okay.  
   
“You kept watching.”  
   
“I couldn’t look away.”  
   
“I hope you know my new mission in life is to fucking cockblock you, bastard.”  
   
“Whatever dude,” he grins again. “I can die happy. It was like being in a threesome.”  
   
“Did you _wank_ to it?!” The grin spreads then he pauses before letting out a laugh and saying no then admitting he almost did. She believes him. She knows his tells. She still hates him.  
   
“You’re such a little bitch,” Santana tells him, seriously, opening the fridge and getting a bottle of water. Normally she’d offer him one, too, but he can fuck off.   
   
“I’m like, sorry. I swear.” He holds up his hands in surrender then starts laughing again.  
   
“You should keep three feet if we cross any streets together. I can’t be blamed for pushing you into oncoming traffic.”  
   
“I won’t fight it,” he says then kicks his Timbs against the desk. “You need to like, get that thing steam cleaned,” he says pointing toward the pool table.  
   
“Shut up,” she laughs out. “M’gonna. Just glad this shit is mine and not Holly’s anymore. She’d freak.”  
   
“Hell yeah,” he tells her. “You talked to her lately?”  
   
“Yeah. Last week. She called and said she’s opening a food truck that sells cupcakes or something.” She shrugs, shaking her head, then leans down to swipe off a smudge on the Cement 3’s she’s wearing.  
   
“Cupcakes? She’s a fucking character.”  
   
“Gets shit done,” Santana says. It’s quiet for a moment and she’s just sipping her water and flipping through a magazine on the coffee table. It’s pretty fucking swanky back here.  
   
“Dude, chicks just keep going and— ow! I’m done. Promise.”  
   
Santana rolls her eyes and caps her drink, “Toss me that back.”  
   
“So you can throw it again? No way.”  
   
*  
   
Rachel comes in at noon in tight ass dark jeans and this little ruffly top. She looks cute and hot as hell at the same time and Santana just sort of wants to like, drag her out of here caveman style and put her in her bed. Whatever, that’s not weird. Leave her alone.  
   
Anyway.  
   
She feels lame as hell for feeling so smitten (that’s the word, even if she doesn’t want to use it) off of like, what is basically a one-night stand – though she doesn’t want it to be.  
   
Rachel lifts these super cute sunglasses off her face and pushes them up on her head and leans against Santana’s station while Santana just sits there grinning at her like a fucking loser with her legs parted. She can’t help herself.  
   
“Hi,” Rachel says, then she licks her lips and Santana’s positive _that_ time was on purpose.  
   
Her hand is reaching to close around Rachel’s wrist without permission as she says, “Hey,” and asks Rachel what she’s doing here.  Rachel leans into the touch and ends up sort of between her legs as she smiles down at her through her lashes.  
   
“You said you’d do me today,” she says slowly, then bites the edge of her bottom lip, these little creases forming at the corner of her eyes and, fuck.  
   
Santana’s basically like, a goner.  
   
She lets out this breath she didn’t realize she was holding and strokes her fingers over the soft skin of Rachel’s wrist.  
   
“Yeah, I did,” she says, leaning back in her stool. “What do you want me to give you?”  
   
Rachel blushes then laughs a little. “You’re dirty.”  
   
Santana just raises her eyebrows, smirks. “I’d deny it but I don’t like lying.”  
   
Rachel rolls her eyes and exhales, folds her fingers to touch Santana’s skin. Then she starts grinning and before Santana can say, “What?” she laughs and says, “You have a rainbow tattoo on your thigh.”  
   
Santana can’t help but laugh in response and like, pulling Rachel closer is just a reaction to that or whatever, but Rachel doesn’t move away or seem to care that there are other people around. Puck, Z and Matt are all tattooing people and Hugo is consulting a piercing, so whatever.  
   
“I do,” she laughs out then shakes her head. That’s the only regretted tat on her body and it’s basically been unwanted since _before_ she got it.  
   
Sometimes she and Puck get drunk (always) and sometimes there’s a tattoo gun nearby and Santana’s telling Puck he can like, do whatever because she just wants ink and he’s the kind of drunk asshole who’ll tattoo a little rainbow on his best friend’s upper thigh and then laugh hysterically for the next five years. If he could hear Rachel, she knows he’d be so pleased with himself and she basically wants to kill him today.  
   
“That was a mistake,” she says rolling her eyes. “I was drunk and Puck’s a dick, so.”  
   
Rachel just smiles at her, scrunches up her nose and then drops her eyes to Santana’s lips.  
   
“You can kiss me,” Santana teases. “I mean, I own the place so I won’t get in trouble.”  
   
Rachel rolls her eyes, lets out this pretend annoyed breath then moistens her lips as the fingers of her free hand curl into Santana’s tee. Then she presses their lips together gently, just for a few seconds and pulls back but Santana leans forward, following, and kisses her once more.  
   
She’s fucking … God; this girl is going to be like, the death of her. All she wants to do is lay her out somewhere or pin her against something and take her fucking time—  
   
Whatever she’s thinking must be on her face because Rachel’s giving her the most amused little look. She pushes at Santana’s shoulder and says, “Stop that.”   
   
“What?”  
   
“I can see what you’re thinking.”  
   
Santana just laughs at the way the girl’s voice goes up mid-sentence and it’s nice to know she’s not the only one affected by all this. She licks her lips slow and leans back.  
   
“Okay. Let’s talk about this tat you want from me.” Rachel shifts back just a bit but her fingers keep flexing against the cotton of her shirt.  
   
“Um, well. I just got a new show,” she says, blushing. “Lead this time.”  
   
“Yeah? That’s … wow. I’m like, proud,” she says and she doesn’t really feel lame because, whatever, she is. The girl’s like, making moves and shit. Santana can appreciate that type of thing. “Congrats.”  
   
“Thank you,” Rachel says and her head dips just a bit as she smiles.  
   
“So, what do you want?”  
   
“Just two music notes,” she says biting at her lip again then looking up at Santana’s face.  
   
She can’t her help herself, so her voice drops a few octaves when she says, “Where do you want it?”  
   
Rachel’s face and neck flush so quickly that Santana wants to like, Arsenio _woop_. That’s not even her best dirty talk.  
   
“Oh my god,” Rachel says, eyes blinking. (They’re so fucking _pretty_.) “You have to stop or I’ll want you right now,” she whispers.  
   
Since they’re whispering now, she leans closer, lets her lips brush the girl’s ear when she says, “I already want you though.”  
   
“God,” Rachel says and all Santana is thinking about is how that’s what she said after Santana made her come and she wants to do that again as soon as possible. Like, now, really. If it wouldn’t be like, wrong, she’d kick everyone out and take her right here.  
   
She needs to fucking chill.  
   
She leans back in her stool, lets Rachel’s wrist go and runs her hand over her jeans. Rachel’s just looking at her with this expression she likes, a lot.  
   
“I think you should get it on your shoulder.”  
   
“Get what?”  
   
Santana laughs, “The tat, baby.”  
   
“Oh,” she says. “I’m… you’re distracting, you know that?”  
   
“Hmm. I might’ve heard it once or twice.”  
   
“Of course,” Rachel says, shaking her head just a bit. ”I like the placement idea,” she adds and, yeah, Santana lets her fingertips run over Rachel’s shoulder.  
   
“I, um, I’m going to the washroom before we start, okay?” Rachel says and um, is that an invitation, because it’s not necessarily spacious but she can make that work.  
   
It’s like Rachel can read her thoughts because she grins and says, “You stay here,” all fake serious then turns on the heels of her little flats.  
   
She can wait.  
   
Maybe.  
   
Whatever.  
   
She just runs her tongue over her teeth and slips off her stool and checks out the tat Puck is doing the next station over.  
   
He grins at her, all obnoxious and knowing, and says, “Sup?” and she knows him, so she doesn’t even respond. “She’s bad, yo,” he adds and she rolls her eyes because, duh.  
   
“I know.”  
   
He just nods and focuses his attention on shading the sick ass tribal piece on the guy’s back and she presses a kiss to his cheek just because and heads back to her station and starts sketching.  
   
She’s got two little notes on the pad when Rachel comes back and leans up to see.  
   
“Sorry,” she says. “Sam called me.”  
   
“S’cool,” Santana says, pushing the pad over so Rachel can get a better view. “How’s that?”  
   
“Perfect,” she says sincerely.  
   
Santana makes quick work of the transfer, tells Rachel she has to take off her shirt and laughs a little at the way Rachel’s cheeks go pink before she peels it off and settles onto the chair.  
   
Yeah, so, straddling her chair to tat has never been a problem but like, it’s giving her ideas and she’s trying to not think about those. She gets the transfer ink onto Rachel’s shoulder, checks the placement with her and like Rachel’s tensing up before she does anything. She just has her right-gloved hand on the girl’s shoulder next to the outline.  
   
Rachel flinches when the needle touches down and Santana pulls back and asks if she’s hurt her. Rachel takes in a little breath and says, “It’s not that.”  
   
She kind of has to ask, “What is it?”  
   
Rachel shakes her head. “It’s silly.”  
   
“Tell me.”  
   
“It’s just … you’re touching me and…” she blinks her eyes closed and has this little grin on and, god.  
   
“Oh.”  
“Yeah,” Rachel says, and then presses herself back into the chair. “Just …”  
   
“Won’t take long, promise,” Santana says. “I, um, I can get out of here and we can get some food.”  
   
“Food,” Rachel says.  
   
“Mhm. It’s ass backward since you’ve already gone down on me but I want to like, feed you and take you somewhere. I think they call that a date,” she says, smirking.  
   
“Is there good takeout by your place?”  
   
Oh, okay.  
   
“The best.”  
   
“I think you should finish now then,” Rachel says turning back toward the mirror and like, Santana just grins at her in it before focusing on finishing this fucking tat.  
   
She has to clear her mind because the worst thing she could do is give her a bad one because she’s too focused on, you know, the business, so she takes a minute to run her fingers over the tracer ink before she touches the gun to Rachel’s skin.  
   
She just keeps her eyes away from the mirror and etches on these cute little music notes that she’s going to want to kiss one day, which…  
   
God. She’s ridiculous.  
   
She finishes pretty quickly and it looks good. The placement is nice and she tells Rachel it’s on the house when she tries to go to the counter and pay Tina and like, whatever, it was tiny and she fucking … she doesn’t know but it’s not a big deal to her. She just wants to get out of here.  
   
So, she does. Grabs the bag and follows Rachel out then pulls Rachel against her body and kisses her because just needs to.  
   
She’s seriously not into PDA but she just, whatever. She does what she wants, okay?  
   
Rachel’s fingers curl around her bicep and she kisses back and says, “Your place,” like a command and Santana likes it.  
   
*  
   
Everything’s a blur after that. You know, not important. There’s the train and the few blocks to her apartment and testing her patience in an elevator with the hottest girl alive but she restrains herself until she’s got the door to her place open and Rachel following her in.  
   
She kisses her once, solidly, and slides her hands under Rachel’s top before pushing it over her head. Then, she’s pulling Rachel toward her by the belt loops close to her zipper and licking into her mouth. Rachel’s arms wrap around her neck and, fuck.  
   
She backs her up against the wall and wastes no time popping the button on Rachel’s jeans loose and pulling down her zipper. Rachel doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps kissing her, hard, with her hands gripping Santana’s hair.  
   
There’s a soft pop when she pulls her mouth away to breathe and Santana takes the moment to push Rachel’s pants and panties off her hips and down her thighs. Rachel kicks them the rest of the way off, squeaks when Santana sets her hand on the back of her thigh and lifts, so she’s open and pressed solidly against the wall, then lets out this low moan when Santana slides her fingers on either side of her clit, then she’s pressing them in.  
   
Rachel’s making the best noises right against her ear as she fills her. She lets out a whine when Santana’s fingers press up and her thumb swipes over her nerves, so Santana does it again and again, until Rachel’s letting her head fall back against the plaster, hips coming down to meet the thrusts of Santana’s fingers.  
   
She licks a path from Rachel’s collarbone to her chin – wetting marks she left just last night – then bites down on her pulse point and curls her tongue around her earlobe. Rachel’s moans are seriously like music, this little chorus of whimpers and gasps. Her nails are dig into Santana’s arm and she just hikes her up a little higher for a better angle.  
   
Rachel starts panting her name when Santana commits her hips to follow through and she just needs her mouth again. She kisses over the swell of Rachel’s breast, lets her tongue slide over the same sweat slicked skin before she kisses her way up to her mouth.  
   
Rachel’s hand scratches over the back of her neck and her nails sink in when Santana twists her wrist just so. The pain registers but she doesn’t mind in the least and she can feel tension building more rapidly in her own body.  
   
Rachel pulls away from her mouth to let out this sexy gasp like she can’t believe what’s happening to her. Then she’s capturing Santana’s bottom lip and sucking, hard, before tugging on it with her teeth.  
   
And Santana just needs … she needs to hear that shaky breath and see the flush that will cover Rachel’s chest and neck when she falls apart.  
   
She wets her lips and gets right by Rachel’s ear, nips at it, because she can, and says, “Just let go baby. I wanna see.”  
   
Rachel’s nodding with her eyes fluttering closed and pulsing around Santana’s fingers when Santana says, “Come,” and rubs her nerves with just right pressure.    
   
It’s quiet, the way Rachel shatters, but it’s present in the way her thighs tremble, her eyes flutter, still heavy-lidded, and her mouth, red and swollen, drops opens.  
   
Santana’s arms fucking _hurt_ but she just rests her forehead against Rachel’s, keeps holding her up and kisses her mouth gently.  
   
She pulls her hand away after working her down slow and sets both hands under Rachel’s ass. Her thighs squeeze around Santana’s waist and then Rachel says her name, just once, laughs lightly and says, “I can’t even… Just…” before kissing her.  
   
“Bed?” Santana asks. Rachel just nods and Santana carries her the few feet to her room, lays her out on her bed. She looks so fucking good on Santana’s red comforter, hair spread out over her pillows. Santana strips out of her clothes because she doesn’t need them then crawls up the bed, settles herself on Rachel’s side, curving a thigh over hers.  
   
Rachel threads their fingers together and says, “So, you are always this good,” like it’s fact. Santana likes it so she kisses her shoulder, looks toward the other wondering if she hurt it pressing her up against the wall like that. Rachel’s apparently really good at reading her because she just shakes her head and says it’s fine then shifts so Santana’s on her back and she’s straddling her thighs.  
   
She looks really fucking good from this angle and Santana folds her arms behind her head and smirks up. Rachel lets out this amused breath and scratches at Santana’s stomach.  
   
“You always good?” Santana asks.  
   
“Let’s find out,” Rachel says.  
   
(She does.)  
   
*  
   
She wakes up both hungry and thirsty and she’s sure it has a lot to do with the beautiful girl in her bed. She tries to slip out of bed quietly because Rachel’s still sleeping but she’s not so successful.  
   
“Come back,” Rachel says, sleepily. Her face is squished against Santana’s pillow and her hair’s spread out over her shoulder and, yeah, she’s still naked, so there’s that. She looks cute though, all small and sleepy.  
   
“M’getting some water and a menu,” she says and Rachel just hums and lets her eyes close again.  
   
Santana grabs two bottles of water and two slices of cinnamon raisin bread because she needs some type of nourishment like, now. She gets the menu for her favorite Thai place a few blocks over.  
   
She decides to pull on a white V-neck and a pair tiny black boxer briefs and grabs a shirt for Rachel, too, after setting everything on her nightstand.  
   
Rachel rolls over as she climbs back into bed and Santana sets the shirt next to her. She sits up and tugs it over her head. It nearly swallows her and she looks hot so Santana lets her fingers slide over the skin of her inner thigh for a moment. There’s a nice little hickey right there, peeking out from under the cotton.  
   
She hands Rachel one of the waters when she leans up on her elbow. The girl thanks her and takes a sip as Santana nibbles on a piece of bread.  
   
“Want?” She asks, holding it out. Rachel says yes and bites it when Santana holds it closer to her mouth. “There’s a Thai place with like, the best spring rolls ever that I always order from. We could order from there,” she says when they’ve finished the first slice.  
   
“Mm. Sounds good,” Rachel says. She’s glad because that’s the only menu she grabbed and she kind of really, really wants Thai.  
   
Santana gives her the menu and lets her look it over. She already knows what she wants. It’s what she always gets. She sips her water as Rachel decides, reaches for the remote of her dock to turn on some music and relaxes against her pillows while the girl decides.  
   
She calls them up minutes later to order pineapple fried rice (extra spicy), for her, and the veggie drunken noodles Rachel points to in the menu. She tacks on an order of spring rolls and mango and sticky rice for them to share then drops her phone back on the nightstand.  
   
Rachel crawls over her body, straddles Santana’s hips and presses a kiss to her lips and like, it kind of just hits her that the girl’s still here. Santana’s usually good with the tap and dash when she’s somewhere else and quick to show the exit when they’re at hers but she doesn’t _want_ her to leave.  
   
Rachel’s fingers are tracing over the lines of her sleeve when she starts to giggle.  
   
“What’s funny?” She asks.  
   
Rachel just smiles at her and says, “This song,” eyes rolling toward Santana’s dock. She starts laughing like, immediately because she wasn’t even paying attention to what she turned on and this isn’t the playlist she meant to start, but Juvenile is giving instructions on backing that ass up and, well, now she has ideas.  
   
She just grins, bites her bottom lip and brings her hand down to smack Rachel’s ass lightly. Rachel squeals and grabs for Santana’s hand, holds it above her head.  
   
“Hey,” Santana says, wrapping her fingers around Rachel’s forearm with her other hand. Rachel just grabs that too (she’s like, surprisingly strong) and holds both of Santana’s hands above her head and gives her this dirty little grin with her hair falling around her face. Maybe her breath hitches.  
   
“If you wanna be on top, you’ve gotta do something while you’re there babe,” she goads and Rachel just rolls her eyes and says, “I plan to.”  
   
*  
   
Um, she fucking hates delivery guys for like, the rest of forever because dude comes knocking just as she’s kissing her way down Rachel’s body and it’s not like she can leave him there until she’s done (she doesn’t plan for this to be quick). So she gets up and grumbles while she signs the receipt but slaps a five in his palm anyway.  
   
They kind of do need to eat, so she puts the food down in her living room on the coffee table, gets Rachel’s pants from the floor near her door and takes them to her though she doesn’t mind eating naked.  
   
“I’m starving,” Rachel says grabbing her panties from inside her jeans. She pulls them on then wraps an elastic from around her wrist into her hair.    
   
Santana says, “I don’t know why,” because she can’t help herself.  
   
“You’re so dirty.”  
   
“And you like it,” she says, like she knows it’s true (obviously), then puts her hands on Rachel’s hips as she walks her to the living room, licks over a tiny little red mark behind the girl’s ear.  
   
 *

“I want another one,” Rachel says, when they’re done eating and she’s beneath Santana on the couch, Santana’s thumb stroking the gold star she tatted there. Her leg wraps around Santana’s waist and her fingers play with the hairs at the base of her neck. Santana’s not sure if she means a tattoo or an orgasm.  
   
She can do both.


End file.
